


High Noon Gothic

by Yodawgiherd



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Backstory, Deal With the Devil, Gen, high noon skins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24002638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yodawgiherd/pseuds/Yodawgiherd
Summary: Darius and Draven clash under the heated noon sun in a proper western duel and there can be only one victor.In other words, my own imagining of the background for the High Noon skinline, because that aesthetic is just so badass.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	High Noon Gothic

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo, some time back (around the time when HN Darius came out) I had this idea to write fanfic like this.  
> Months later, the prompt was still lying around unfinished, so after taking care of some loose ends here it is, quite a different peace to what I usually write.  
> There is no other reason for this to exist other than High Noon is freakin badass and the skins all look so amazing.  
> That's about it.  
> Enjoy!

It was his own damn fault.

Lying on his back, with the noon sun burning into his skin, Darius could feel the blood dripping down from his chest, where the axes buried themselves into his flesh, knowing that while painful, those were not killing wounds. Not that it would matter, high noon duels always ended with one of the contestants dead, there were no exceptions. A sound of crunching sand reached his ears, and the cowboy boots of his soon-to-be executioner came into the view, spurs jingling.

Fucking Draven and his toy axes. When did he learn to use them? Suffice to say, Darius never really cared for his brother, thought of him as vain and extravagant, with all the parties and shit. Draven had an enormous ego and loved to feed it, a personality so much different than his older brother that it made people question if the two of them were even related. But they were, and the blood that was now dripping onto the hot sand was the same that ran in the veins of the victor of the duel.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, the duel was a formality, a way for Darius to finally get rid of his annoying younger sibling who brought nothing but shame on his legend. He was the fabled manhunter, the best bounty hunter in the west, while Draven was…. well, Draven, fucking and drinking his way through one saloon after the other, leaving behind a trail of empty booze bottles and deflowered women. That was mostly the reason why Darius even accepted the duel in the first place, eager to finally do what he itched to for years and put an end to that stain on his honor. But he fucked up. Celebrating too early, he drank himself into oblivion last night, the deed already done in his mind. Head pounding, he dragged himself into the square at high noon, packed with spectators, fully expecting for Draven to not even know how to use those ridiculous weapons of his, and was mightily surprised that when the signal came, his brother’s reflexes were lightning-fast and his aim true. He underestimated him, and even when his back hit the sand, Darius still couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Well, would you look at that!”, Draven’s annoying voice cut into his brooding, and from the volume of his shouting, Darius assumed that he was addressing the crowd. That little bastard always did love attention.

“The mighty Darius, the terror of the plains, defeated! By me!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, clapping, inflating the already enormous ego, while Draven did a little victory dance over his older brother, making him wish that he was already dead.

“Just fucking finish it.”, he managed to push out, getting the attention of his celebrating sibling.

“Finish it?”, turning on his heel, Draven squatted next to Darius, shaking his head, his ridiculous mustache swaying, “But why? You know it better than me bro, man’s life in the west is his reputation, and you’ve just lost it all.”, leaning even closer, his voice dropped into a whisper, “I don’t have to kill you, letting you live as a proof of my superiority will be much sweeter.”

This was what he was after? Humiliation? Darius felt a wave of nausea hit him as he slowly came to realize that Draven was right. Who would ever take him seriously, now that he was defeated by a drunk whoremonger? Who would ever seek the help of a manhunter like him? No one. Fucking no one.

“You better kill me, or I swear I’ll make you regret it.”, talking hurt, but it was nothing compared to imagining his legend, the thing he spent all his life building up crumble into dust just because of one mistake. Stupid fucking mistake. All he got in response was his brother reaching down and wrenching the throwing axes free for his torso, the metal leaving his flesh with a spray of blood.

“You really are no fun.”, Draven sighed, standing up, “If you want to die so badly, do it yourself.”

And he turned back to the crowd, eager to once more bask in their adoration. Darius couldn’t hear what he was saying over the sound of blood pounding in his ear, but he did hear the continuous cheering that followed, and after that, the sound of many footsteps retreating, dust swirling, and before he realized it he was alone, bleeding out in the square under the merciless sun. Darius was called a long of things in his life. A monster, animal, murderer, but never a quitter or a coward. Groaning, the pain blinding, he pushed himself into a sitting position, each and every muscle protesting against the movement. He had a massive cut deep within his flesh, lost a lot of blood, and no one would lift a finger to help him. But Darius was used to that, he always preferred to do things on his own, to rely only on himself. Grabbing the axe gun from where he dropped it after he was shot, Darius stood up. He would not give up, he would not surrender. There were powers out in the wild west, powers that went far beyond mortals, powers that only a chosen few had any idea about. One foot in front of the other, Darius hobbled out of the city, leaving it behind in order to find his revenge, to lick his wounds and come back stronger because he had a promise to fulfill. Draven will regret letting him live. 

Finding a devil out in the desert was easier than one might imagine if you knew where to look. Getting the directions from Lucian was hard, but Darius was very persuasive and made it clear that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. In the end, the sheriff relented but warned him that whatever deal he wanted to make, the devils would be the one getting the better end of it. He seemed to be speaking from experience but frankly put, Darius didn’t care.

The open prairie was oddly eerie in the moonlight, illuminating the lone figure of the manhunter as he stood there, waiting, with the axe slung over his shoulder. Hooves in the distance, shadow riders appearing and quickly growing larger, nearing him. Unflinching, Darius watched them as they charged, adapting a wider stance to meet them. Cut left, cut right, two of the shadows screamed and dissipated, leaving only one. Jumping high, Darius fell on him like a storm, cleaving him in half, the darkness disappearing. That was when the real devil showed himself, a raging fire instead of a shadow. Seeing how easily the stranger dispatched his riders, the devil didn’t try to take him on outright, he instead listened to him, to his story, and his demands for power, offering a deal, as devils tend to. And under the full moon, man and demon entered a pact, and Darius felt the rush of infernal flames for the first time. He was ready.

“And he begged me not to kill him, cried on his knees, and merciful as I am, I let him go.”, Draven faked a pitiful sigh, “He is my brother, after all.”

The woman covered her mouth with a palm, staring at the cocky.

“The great Darius, defeated? Oh my..”, she shuffled closer, leaning in and giving Draven a great view of her cleavage, “Tell me more…”

“Who am I to deny a lady? So..”

The door of the saloon exploded. A tall dark figure walked into the room, wreathed in flame, the screaming patrons scattering left and right while it scanned the room, looking for its victim. Draven jumped up, pushing the woman off him, drew his axe and threw, right between the eyes. But the devil just batted it aside. The massive axe the demon was holding swung, much faster than a human eye could register, and Draven suddenly realized that he was missing an arm. Oh, bother. The searing pain didn’t even get a chance to travel all the way up to his brain before the butt of the axe connected with his stomach, doubling him over, and then the monster grabbed him by the collar, throwing him through the burning doors and out in the open.

It was his own damn fault.

Lying on his back, with the noon sun burning into his skin, Draven could feel the blood dripping down from the stump that used to be his arm, where the axe bit deep into his flesh, knowing that while painful, that was not a killing cut. Not that it would matter, dance with the devil always ended with the mortal party damned, there were no exceptions. A sound of crunching sand reached his ears, and the cowboy boots of the monster that used to be his brother came into the view, spurs jingling. Looking back, he should have killed the guy when he had the chance.

“Tell me, what did you sacrifice for this power?”, Draven looked up into the merciless flaming eyes, trying to find a speck of humanity in them. And falling short.

“Your immortal soul?”

“Yes.”, the monster lifted one leg, stepping on the one-handed man’s chest, and pushing down, “And yours too.”

The sand opened, infernal flames appearing beneath, and Draven began slowly sinking into it, realizing what was happening. He won’t die. Darius is here to send him straight to hell, without any chance of redemption. Draven began laughing, at the absurdity of it all, choking on his merriment while his body continued sinking deeper and deeper into the sand, on its way right into the eternal torment. The last part of Draven that saw the light of the mortal world was his only remaining hand, which curled into a finger gun and disappeared from view with a last mimicked bang.

Alone, standing in the middle of the town, Darius could feel the eyes of everyone on him, knowing that they just saw him banishing his brother right into the depths of hell. The looks, filled with fear, hate, and some with envy, meant only one thing. Darius, the terror of the west, was back, so straightening his back, he walked right out into the desert, lips curling into a cruel smile. He had heads to hunt.


End file.
